Romans in Milan? No problem! Just make sure you’re prepared for the cold (fur hats and thick coats), and if in doubt, ask the traffic cops (“noio volevan savuar…” – read caption of B&W picture below*). Here in the north, the climate is different—try explaining that to the African heat wave that’s engulfed Europe these past few days: it’s practically melting…

Joking aside, a week-long trip to Milan got me thinking about a number of things. From how much I enjoy this city, despite being a Roman of Samnite origins (i.e. a ‘southerner’), to how I generally find the Milanese quite likeable (though it always depends on the individual). Apart from the fact that when dealing with the public (and I’m told this is the case in Naples too), you find a level of courtesy that’s increasingly rare in Rome (though perhaps things are improving), it’s still a major Italian city (albeit far smaller than Rome), and as such, it’s splendid in the city centre but has the usual problems in the suburbs. Specifically, I was at the Politecnico di Milano, not for work but to accompany my teenage son to a summer course offered by the prestigious institute named after Leonardo da Vinci. It was the second time: last year it was just the two of us (a wonderful father-son trip) and this year the whole family came along. As was the case last year, I had to carry on working remotely. This year my wife was able to come, but she had to go sightseeing on her own. Working within a university provided me with my first opportunity for reflection.

I worked in the Department of Geological Sciences at Roma Tre University for seven years. I find the university environment stimulating, both because of the constant contact with young people and because of the nature of the work carried out – work that is driven by a desire for knowledge. Whilst my son was attending his summer courses, I was free to settle down at tables equipped with power sockets for my devices and get on with my work. Although I was no longer working as a geologist, working within a university brought back the feelings I used to have when I was actually part of it. These are places where progress takes shape; the pursuit of knowledge happens all around you, even if you are not directly involved in it. It is stimulating and energising. I’ve never been interested in working directly for profit. Even though I don’t work for the sake of knowledge these days, I still have the task of solving a problem, and that’s what makes what I do interesting. If solving these problems happens to mean greater profits for clients, fine – I don’t care. I get my salary and I don’t concern myself with the motivations or the true ultimate purpose behind the requests that come my way. I simply view them as problems to be solved. And I prefer doing that at the Politecnico di Milano rather than from home or the office…

Thinking about this makes me realise that if I’d known myself better at the right time, I would have focused my efforts on finding a job in the sciences. But that’s how it went, and actually, when I really think about it, it turned out quite well. Anyway, when I arrived in the city, whilst looking for a free parking space for the week, I ended up parking right in front of the Milan office of the National Institute of Geophysics! Well, isn’t that just fate!

Another food for thought came from a minor incident on the first day of this second visit to the Lombard capital. After a morning’s work, I headed towards the building housing the cafeteria. As I went to walk through the gate, I found myself thrown to the ground (thank goodness for my 20 years of Aikido practice, which still protects me) and saw, next to me, a bicycle that had collided with me and a young girl falling heavily to the ground. As I tried to get up straight away, I felt a sharp pain in my left calf and side, so I paused for a moment to assess the situation. The girl was back on her feet straight away, apologising profusely in English. She’d been cycling along the pavement and thought she’d pass me on the left, right in front of the gate I was about to go through. And she wasn’t wearing a helmet! She was bleeding profusely from her head but didn’t want to call an ambulance for fear of the costs, as she was a non-EU citizen (from an Eastern European country). In the end, with the help of a kind chemist who treated our injuries, we managed to persuade her, and when the ambulance arrived, we realised it was just a small cut: the scalp is very well supplied with blood and can bleed profusely from even a minor cut. They took her to hospital for a check-up and she didn’t pay a eurocent.

I didn’t stay with her until she was handed over to an ambulance just to make a good impression. I’m a father, and my thoughts turned to her father, far away, unaware that his daughter had been injured in a foreign country. What would I have wanted if it had happened to my son, far from home? So I looked after her for as long as I could and until I saw that she was now in safe hands. I never gave a thought to who was at fault in the accident. Quite simply, she seemed to need help far more than I did, so I did what I could. As a grown man and a father, I looked after a twenty-year-old in distress who might well have been my own daughter (or even my granddaughter, but never mind that!). I didn’t think about my own injuries, but about those of a young girl who could have been my daughter. I would, of course, have done the same for my own son, and if I hadn’t been there, I would have been glad if he’d met someone with the same protective instinct as me. Obviously, it meant a great deal to the girl, and I imagine she’ll have told her parents, who will be grateful to me for my help. But their gratitude doesn’t matter; what matters is that I’m glad I reacted in this way.

Could there have been other ways? Yes, the girl was completely in the wrong and could have seriously hurt me or damaged my new work laptop, which was in the rucksack that flew off on impact. Bicycles aren’t required to have insurance (not right) and I should have/could have pursued damages against the non-EU girl. Nice, isn’t it? I’m glad it didn’t even cross my mind for a moment: I saw a little girl, barely older than my son, with blood streaming from her head. I thought about her condition, not mine – I’m over 60 and was just bleeding a little from my leg. She needed help, not blame… and as far as I was concerned, she’d already apologised enough. Perhaps the average Italian today – provincial and focused on their own ego and self-interest – would have thought about making a bit of money, about being justly compensated for the damage suffered. Or worse still: ‘She’s a pretty twenty-something from Eastern Europe, she feels guilty, so I’ll get her number on the pretext of checking she’s OK, then invite her for a drink so I can give her a chance to apologise properly.’ Well… yet I don’t think it’s hard to find people who think that way. So much so that it’s even, at times, difficult to make it clear that my help for the twenty-year-old was entirely selfless. But I did think about making a good impression: not for myself, but for our free health service for those we host, even if they’re from outside Europe. The poor girl was worried about the costs. But she didn’t have to pay a thing.

In the US, there are people who run away from ambulances because they know they’ll never be able to afford the cost of the emergency treatment, let alone hospitalisation! The foreign girl was worried about the costs, but they looked at her as if they didn’t understand: costs for what? That’s national pride for me! Perhaps other, more rational (or racist) viewpoints would argue that if you don’t pay taxes here and want medical treatment, you have to pay for it. But that would be tantamount to doctors refusing to treat a criminal wounded by the police. Unfortunately, we live in times when foreigners are seen as enemies. I, on the other hand, am glad that my hard-earned taxes also go towards helping those in need, regardless of their citizenship.

Coming to Milan over the last two years has given me the chance to catch up with two brothers, childhood friends, whom I hadn’t seen for over 40 years. They used to spend every summer in their parents’ home region, Molise, a small region in south-central Italy (the current joke is that it does not exist but it does and is populated by “terroni”, a derogatory word used by northerners to address southern earth workers). My parents are also from Molise, and at that time we lived near their relatives in Campobasso, the capital city of the region. Where I lived, there was a courtyard that would fill up with young lads every season. And the two lads from Milan were an integral part of the group that welcomed them warmly every summer (understandably so, given that they’d come down from the cold north). Modern social media has allowed us to reconnect, and we have a WhatsApp group with all the lads from the courtyard, who are now rather advanced in years. So last year we got in touch and met up one evening. It was incredible: it was as if we’d last seen each other only last week! Over 40 years have passed, and we picked up the conversation as if nothing had changed.

Let’s leave aside the fact that they’re clearly lovely people – open and friendly, always up for a laugh and a joke. What’s striking is how the bonds formed at such a tender age are so strong and special that they allow us to feel naturally at ease together, even after so many years without contact. It’s true that these are memories of youth. They represent something you’ve lost (adolescence) and to which you’re very attached. Seeing them again makes you feel close to your youth and gives you pleasure. But there’s also another aspect: these are bonds that were formed when we were at our peak potential. Back then, we could have become anything and didn’t know what. Nothing was impossible. Surely anything could still have happened to any one of us. A period of immense potential that helps to create deep memories to which we remain forever attached. In our particular case, we were especially lucky. The courtyard of our childhood is a magical place. Every time I pass by there, I simply have to pop in to have a look. It’s irresistible. A few years ago, I went there with my father and my son. Looking at the front door and our old windows, I have to say that if we’d been able to go up to the third floor and spend the night in our old, huge 1970s flat, I would have been more than happy to do so. Our courtyard was in the ideal spot to make for a spectacular childhood during those years.

Times when we used to spend hours outdoors, playing in the street and making up our own games. The bonds formed in this way are indelible, and I feel sorry for my son, who has no idea what that’s like, as connected devices are now the main way of managing relationships. And indeed, the courtyard today is empty and silent – a symbol of our times – where I argue with my son to get him to go out, just as I used to argue with my own parents to be allowed to go out. These days, there are fewer children about, and they’re packed with scheduled activities: gym, tennis, football, swimming, music, English. Meeting up outdoors near home is an afterthought; they have neither the time nor the inclination, and their interests and games lie elsewhere – on their consoles and online.

In short, a Samnite on a trip to Mediolanum, in the cold north, is prompted to reflect on the past, present and future. Of course, travelling broadens the mind; even if you’re not visiting a foreign country (but what am I on about? What am I doing amongst the Longobards!?) it’s an opportunity to take a break from the daily grind, reflect on our differences (as stimulating traits) and on the things we have in common (which are many), and perhaps even to appreciate more what we have and take for granted…